


it was not your fault but mine

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Lysa kills Petyr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(and it was your heart on the line)<br/>Lysa takes control of her life. 'He struggles, struggles, struggles against her grip, but she has always been taller than him, has always been stronger when fury overtakes her, and there is nothing he can do.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	it was not your fault but mine

His hands are tight around her waist, the wind whipping at her back.

Down on the cold tiles Sansa has curled into herself, sobbing softly into her hands...but she barely pays attention to her niece, to the child her husband has deemed he should love over her, the woman who has given him everything. She can hear her heart thumping in her chest, can almost smell the mint leaves Petyr must have chewed earlier as he breathes slowly as if not to spook her, chest rising and falling with each breath, before he tells her something she knew to be true all along.

Everyone has always loved Cat better, but she is alive and Cat is not. Should that mean _something?_

She had thought it would be different with Petyr, thought he would have been able to look past the allure of Cat and see how truly lovely and eager to please she was, even though she paled beside her sister. But no, he had loved Cat blindly, even though she had never returned his affection and had nearly permitted him to _die_ at the hand of that horrid Stark boy.  But now with Cat dead, his love should have been for her, and her alone. Her niece is lovely, a true Tully, but she is a mere child and is not worthy of Petyr's love.

She _bled_ for Petyr, gave him her maiden's gift and would have bore him a babe....and now the man himself thinks to reject her, to not consider all that she did for him, all that she did so they could be together? She shakes her head, gritting her teeth as Petyr tells her of his love for Cat.

Stifling a sob, she grasps his hands furiously, for if he means to send her to her death then she will drag him alongside her. He loosens his grip on her waist, eyes unblinking and mouth set as he considers her. With tears welling in her eyes and a pain in her heart not unlike the one she felt when the blood came and her stomach ached for days, she turns them around so Petyr is the one who has the wind whipping at his back.

He struggles, struggles, struggles against her grip, but she has always been taller than him, has always been stronger when fury overtakes her, and there is nothing he can do.

Her fury pounding through her veins, it is with a quick murmur of the name she would have bestowed upon their child that she sends her husband to his death, his desperate hands ripping her cloak from her shoulders.

Sansa shudders beside her. Petyr's wails seemingly echo for what seems like hours, and she is unaware of what she has actually done until the maester enters the hall and interrupts her contemplation by tugging her away from the still open Moon Door.

Her hair is in disarray, the hair Petyr claimed to love so very much, and Petyr has left furious red claw marks up her forearms, but she does not mind. She laughs brokenly, laughs loudly, until wide-eyed Maester Coleman sends for some of the sweetsleep he likes to give to Sweetrobin. 

Sansa flees the hall, shoeless and weeping, but she does not care for comforting her niece. She will take care of her, for Cat and for their own lady mother, but she shall not comfort her. 

It is horrible that think that throughout her entire life she  has been used by men.  Her father forced her to marry Jon after she had dishonoured their house by giving herself to Petyr, forced her to drink the tea that would murder her babe and her chances at a happy life. Jon himself, although kind, never saw her as anything more than the mother of his children, and visited her only when he desired a babe. It was a desire they shared and her womb swelled often as she longed to provide him with many babes, but the children slipped away in the night and she oft awoke to red sheets and an aching heart. 

And now Petyr. 

She had thought he loved her, would grow to love her as she did him, but he has _never_ loved her. She has been nothing more to him than the sister of Cat, and whilst she pinned all her hopes and dreams on him he saw fit to betray her and give her cause to weep once more – as if she has not wept enough in her life. 

She has always suffered at the hands of men, but today Lysa has freed herself and the thought is thrilling. 

The wind howling through the Moon Door and the body of her husband surely lying prone on the rocks below, she clambers up the stairs and seats herself upon the weirwood throne, permitting herself a smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. But who doesn't love a good Baelish killing?


End file.
